Optimus had no idea how long he stood there in the cramped confines of his cell, shoulders jerking as he vented the tangled emotions in his spark. It felt like hours, though it was most likely only minutes. His optics burned, cleanser marking streaks down his face, and his throat tubing clenched with the pain of sobs he couldn't utter aloud.
His HUD lit up, alerting him that his cleanser ducts had run dry. He literally had no more tears… though that didn't mean the emotions in his spark had run dry. Not at all.
He lifted his head to regard the cell across from him. Megatron gazed back at him, his optics dim with exhaustion and lack of energy, the vocalizer restraint over the lower half of his face obscuring his expression. The calculating anger and cunning that had burned in the Decepticon leader's optics was gone - now he only gazed at the younger mech as if trying to commit every detail to memory.
His father… his father… This mech had sparked him. The most notorious war criminal in Cybertron's history, and he shared programming with him. The horror of it was more than his spark could bear.
"Is it really you, schatzi?"
He broke his gaze from Megatron's, almost grateful for the distraction, and turned to face Blitzwing. The triple-changer's logical personality was in charge now, studying him contemplatively. Had his hands been free he might have been cupping his chin in thought.
"I see ze similarities now," he noted. "Ze colors are different, but ze optics are ze same, and ze olfactory sensor. It is you, Orion… and here ve thought ve would never see you again."
Optimus just stared, feeling his headfins twitch at Blitzwing's words. He'd had another name… and this mech recognized him, a mech whom he had traded blows with many times before his capture. Yet the mech was gazing at him like an object of curiosity now, not an enemy. Indeed, there was almost a degree of fondness in his gaze.
With a blur of his faceplates, another of the triple-changer's personalities shifted to the fore - the enraged one. "Did zey hurt you, little Orion?! I vill destroy zose Autobots for daring to lay a hand on you! Right after I hunt down and slaughter the slavers who stole you!"
His headfins jerked again as another piece of the past fell into place… but as much as he wanted to ask Blitzwing to explain further, he couldn't. The triple-changer might have found out how to slip his vocalizer restraint, but that was beyond Optimus' knowledge. And honestly, he didn't trust himself to speak at the moment. Not without blubbering like a fool or screaming at Megatron for ruining his life.
Another shift, and the lunatic personality's jagged mouth opened in a wild cackle. "Oh-ho-ho-ho, ve missed you, schatzi! Ve had such good times together! You used to like us bouncing you in our lap while your father was busy with-"
Blitzwing's cell slid open while he rambled, and before he could finish that sentence a guard stepped inside and refastened the gag, bolting it securely into place. Blitzwing wobbled his head from side to side, as if trying to continue his babbling despite being effectively muted. The guard just rolled her optics, shut and locked the cell, and stalked away.
Megatron hadn't reacted to Blitzwing's words, just continued to stare at the Autobot captive. Optimus, however, shuttered his optics as he processed what the triple-changer had told him. He'd dropped valuable clues about his past… and all but confirmed the truth. He had been Orion, son of Megatron, spawn of the fearsome Decepticon commander… and ultimately had been ripped from his father's side by slavers.
The memories make sense now, he realized. His early memories were fragmented and scattered, pieces and images rather than full recollections, but he did recall being aboard a ship, strong hands lifting him onto a broad shoulder and carrying him through its corridors… a cruel grip tearing him from his father's side and rushing him away… huddling in a cramped cage stuffed with other sparklings, all shaking and terrified…
His first clear memories had been of the Autobots who had broken open the cage and hauled the shivering sparklings out… and from there, being shepherded to the foundling home where he would make friends, receive his upgrades, and eventually make his way to the Academy as a cadet. He had been just another rescue child then, a refugee assumed to be an orphan in the wake of a devastating war. No one, least of all him, had had any inkling that he'd been something far worse than just another foundling.
His CPU seemed satisfied with how logically it all fit together… but his spark still churned with anger and horror and revulsion. It was one thing to learn the truth about your origins, but quite another to accept that truth as fact. And he wanted nothing more than to somehow tear this revelation out of his CPU and destroy it, to deny it with all his spark, to just curl up and scream until all this madness went away and he awakened from this nightmare and everything had gone back to normal…
The sound wasn't terribly loud, but it was just regular enough to finally pierce his haze of confusion and pain and reach his processor. He opened his optic shutters and gazed at Megatron… or more accurately, at his hand. His wrists were still cuffed, immobilizing every joint in his body save the tips of his fingers, and those fingertips were moving in a regular pattern.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap. A pause, then another series of taps. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap.
Optimus' headfins quivered again. That hand signal… he'd used it before with his own team, a hand-language to communicate with his teammates in situations where the sound of speech would only draw unneeded attention. And that particular series of taps wasn't just a message, but a question.
Okay? Pause. Okay? The mech who had tried to kill him multiple times before, who would have sliced his spark from his chest without a second thought, was asking the most unlikely of questions - are you okay?
Optimus stared a long moment at Megatron, then focused all his energy into tapping a message in response. Two rapid taps, nothing more - No.
He so badly wanted that word to convey everything else he felt at the moment - I want nothing to do with you, how can I be drawn from a monster's programming, where do you get the audacity to be concerned about me - but the signals were rather limited. And honestly, if he had the ability to speak, he was sure he would be screaming until his vocalizer shorted itself out.
Megatron's head rocked ever so slightly on its neck joint, a silent acknowledgment. Perhaps he'd expected that answer - how could anyone be okay in this situation? Especially given the news that had just been broken to them in the worst of ways?
A pause, then the silver mech tapped his fingers again. Is backup coming?
What kind of question was that? Optimus wracked his CPU for a potential response. Was he truly asking a military question at this moment? Or was he trying to ask something else, and using the closest hand signal he could think of to get it across?
Maybe he's wondering if a rescue's coming, he decided. If he thinks my team will come to Cybertron and try for a jailbreak.
At one point, he might have answered that question with a resounding yes. But the expression on Ratchet's face as he'd been dragged out of the council chamber - horror, disbelief, a deep burning rage - was still burned into his CPU. He'd lost the loyalty of the mech he'd considered one of his closest friends… and once Ratchet got back to Detroit and told the other Autobots, he was sure they would have the same reaction. They had all faced their own horrors at the hands of Megatron and his warriors, and would surely turn their backs on him upon knowing the truth of his origins.
No rescue was coming. He was alone… alone with the tyrant who had spawned him.
Two quick taps. No.
Megatron's optics dimmed as he processed that. Then he tapped a response.
Mission failed.
Optimus frowned behind the vocalizer restraint. That statement could have multiple meanings… and somehow he didn't think Megatron was stating the blindingly obvious in that his mission to take over Cybertron had failed. Was he mocking Optimus for falling so far, from being the hero of Cybertron to the second most hated mech on the planet? Or was he referring to his failure towards Optimus himself? Was he, in the restricted nature of the hand signals, trying to apologize for not being there for him?
What does it matter? Optimus thought, anger boiling in his spark. He wasn't there, and you're glad for it. You might be descended from his programming, but you're not his son. He was never your father. His apology, if that's what it is, means nothing…
Megatron's head suddenly slumped forward, his optics going black. Optimus felt his spark lurch in his chest. Had he just watched the mech shut down before his optics? No, his chassis hadn't dimmed to death-gray, and his engines still hummed, albeit haltingly…
Scarlet optics flared to life again, and Megatron jerked his head up, shaking. He was still online… but Optimus knew the effects of severe energy depletion when he saw them. And the longer he gazed at Megatron, the more damage he saw. Not just the deep cracks and dents he'd inflicted on him during that fateful battle in Detroit, but new dents and scuffs he swore hadn't been there when he'd turned Megatron over to the Elite Guard. And some of those dents looked too neatly lined up… as if they'd been made by knuckles.
They haven't even repaired him, he realized. No, worse than that - they've roughed him up. I thought we treated our prisoners with some degree of mercy.
He hesitated… then tapped his fingers. Okay?
Megatron's optics flickered in surprise, but he gave a single tap in response. Yes.
An obvious lie… but Optimus let it go anyhow. Is backup coming?
Two quick taps. No.
Had all Megatron's forces been captured? Were Blitzwing, Lugnut, Shockwave, Swindle, and the Starscream clones really all that remained of his once-mighty army? Or did he have other troops out there, simply unaware that their leader had been captured? Or perhaps under orders to stay hidden until the time was right? Optimus supposed it didn't matter - whatever the reason, it was hopeless to count on a rescue from either side.
He looked Megatron in the optic, then tapped out another message. Further explanation required. If he was going to be trapped here, in close quarters with the mech who had tried to kill him so many times but had also given him spark, then he wanted answers. Who was he? Why had Megatron created a son in the midst of a war? What had his early days been like? And why had they been separated for so long?
Megatron tapped again. Wait. Stand down. Explanation forthcoming.
Optimus gave the slightest of nods. This situation still left his spark raw with grief and horror… but it also raised more questions than it answered. And if remaining in this cell meant the possibility of having those questions addressed… well, it was a slim silver lining, but he would cling to it anyhow. It was the only way he knew to keep his sanity.
"He's WHAT?!" Bulkhead roared. "Are you tellin' us Prime's the son of-"
"Keep your fraggin' voice down!" Ratchet ordered. "You want all of Detroit to hear you?"
Bumblebee burst out laughing, slapping one hand against the ratty couch cushion. "Oh man… and here I thought you had no sense of humor, Ratchet!"
Ratchet narrowed his optics, and Bumblebee's laughter trailed off into a look of horror. "Wait… you're not joking, are you?"
"The doc wouldn't jive us 'bout somethin' this heavy," Jazz replied. "But man… I wish he was."
Prowl hadn't said a word since Ratchet had returned to Earth and dropped his bombshell. He kept his hands folded before him, his expression stoic and unmoved… though Ratchet fancied he could see his optics pale behind his gold visor. That might just be a trick of his optical processor, but he knew this latest information disturbed the ninja on some level.
Both Team Detroit and Team Athenia had gathered in the common room of the Sumdac Tower base to hear the news about Optimus Prime's arrest… and his terrible link to Megatron. Ratchet had dreaded delivering this news, and seeing the shock and horror on his comrades' faceplates only made his core ache all the worse. All these mechs had regarded Optimus as a hero, and seeing their idol's name tarnished like this had to be a blow.
"Megatron sparked Optimus," Bulkhead muttered, his gaze fixed on his feet. "Slag… and he was always such a nice guy! Who'd have thought he'd be related to the Slagmaker?"
"Not like there's a family resemblance," Ironhide huffed. "He kept it hidden good, I'll give 'im that. Surprised he kept it canned up THIS long."
"Did you know?" Rodimus asked quietly. "Did you know he was the son of… that thing?" He sounded almost hurt, as if the news that the mech he'd admired had such sketchy origins was more than he could bear.
"I found out the same time Optimus did, if that's what you're wondering," Ratchet replied. "This isn't some dark secret Optimus has been sitting on for cycles - he was just as shocked as the rest of you."
"I find that hard to believe," Red Alert pointed out, frowning. "Surely he had some clue about his past. You don't just forget your creators."
"Oh?" Ratchet retorted, glaring at his fellow medic. "And you remember the first cycle of your functioning time with perfect clarity? Or the exact details of whoever brought you online?"
She scowled but didn't press that issue.
"So what do we do now?" Jazz asked. "I'm guessin' Iacon'll eventually send a replacement leader for Team Detroit."
"More likely they'll just merge our teams together," Hot Shot replied. "I mean… the Elite Guard isn't exactly spitting out Primes right and left. They'll probably put Rodimus Prime in charge of all of us, at least for now."
Ratchet flinched. Ultra Magnus would do exactly that - and worse, it seemed that these mechs were accepting that as irrefutable fact. Were they really writing their leader off so fast based on this revelation? Where was the outrage at their Prime's arrest? Where was the loyalty to the mech who had led them for so long, had sacrificed so much for them?
"Are you crazy?!" Bumblebee shrieked, leaping to his feet. "No one leads us but Optimus Prime!"
"Yeah!" Bulkhead declared, clenching one hand into a fist and thumping it into his palm. "We're not just gonna sit here and let 'em lock Prime up for good! We gotta go to Cybertron and get Prime outta there!"
Ratchet fought the urge to smile, but that was a battle he was happy to lose. There's the outrage… and the loyalty. I underestimated these young punks. Despite everything, Prime's still their champion.
"Did you lunkheads miss what he said?" Brawn demanded. "Optimus Prime's a Decepticon!"
"He's an Autobot!" Bumblebee retorted. "Last I checked, he wore the Autobot symbol!"
"Yeah, but he's a Con in his programming," Brawn shot back. "And not just that - he was sparked by Megatron himself! Don't that bother you?"
"If Prime's a Decepticon, then I'm a minibot," Bulkhead replied. "And he's our leader. Knowing who he's related to is kinda weird, yeah, but it doesn't change anything!"
"You're wrong, Bulkhead."
All optics fixed on Prowl, and Ratchet felt his scowl return. Prowl chose NOW to finally speak his mind?
"It doesn't change a thing," the medic insisted. "Optimus Prime is still the same mech who took you into our team no questions asked, the same mech who saw a bunch of rejects and outcasts and saw potential. This changes nothing!"
Prowl shook his head, his expression as serene as ever but his voice troubled. "No. It changes one thing in particular."
"Whatcha talkin' about, man?" Jazz asked, staring at his fellow cyberninja.
"Namely that Optimus Prime is no longer safe," Prowl replied, rising to his feet. "Before this, Optimus was considered a hero - and even before then, he was still a Prime, someone in a position of respect. This revelation is going to put a target on his back for the rest of his life." He turned to regard Bumblebee and Bulkhead. "We've depended on Optimus to protect us for a long time… but now it's time for us to protect him. And for all he's done for us, I think that's the least we can do in return. If you're not up to that task, now's the time to back out."
Bumblebee drew himself up straight, his stingers crackling to life. "Like frag am I gonna back out! Boss-bot's our friend, and I'll defend him with my spark if that's what it takes!"
"Yeah!" Bulkhead whooped, pumping his fist in the air.
Ratchet's smile returned. "Wise words, Prowl… and it's gonna be no easy task to protect Optimus from the wrath of the Council and the Magnus. But in my opinion, we owe it to him to do all we can to free him and protect him."
"You mean we get to plan a jailbreak?" asked Bumblebee. "Sweet!"
"Not yet," Ratchet replied. "First we need to go before Ultra Magnus and plead our case to him. It's possible we may be able to talk some sense into him and get him to release Optimus."
"But what if that doesn't work?" asked Bulkhead.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Ratchet told him.
"Meaning a jailbreak," Bumblebee grinned. "Man, never thought I'd be this excited to break a mech outta prison."
"What'll you have us do?" asked Rodimus. "My team can be ready to ship out within half a breem."
"You can't be serious," Red Alert protested. "Do you know what kind of charges can be brought against us if we're caught helping break a mech out of prison?"
"And the offspring'a Megatron no less!" Ironhide added.
Rodimus frowned at his team. "Really, I'm surprised at all of you! Where's your sense of adventure? We've never backed down from a challenge before, and I don't intend to start now." His lip plates cocked in a daredevil grin. "Besides… Ratchet is right. It doesn't matter who sparked Optimus Prime - he's still the hero of Cybertron, even if everyone else is choosing to forget about that. And I say we go help our hero!"
"Cool you thrusters, rookie," Ratchet ordered. "You an' your team are stayin' put."
"Awww!" whined Hot Shot. "Why do WE have to miss out on all the fun?"
"Because someone needs to stay behind on Earth in case rogue Decepticons show up or Allspark fragments turn up," Ratchet replied. "As important as rescuing our friend is, we can't leave Earth defenseless either. We're counting on you to keep things together while we're gone, Rodimus. Can you do that?"
Rodimus nodded. "We won't let you down, sir."
Ratchet narrowed his optics, thinking that the young Prime had conceded far too quickly for his liking. But he decided not to press his luck by digging further. "Team Detroit, to the space bridge! Anyone not on the roof in sixty astroseconds gets left behind!"
"Yessir!" Bumblebee transformed and tore off in a flash, Bulkhead close behind. Jazz and Prowl ran out on foot, and Hot Shot moved to follow but was restrained by Brawl's broad hand on his shoulder.
Ironhide waited until Ratchet had transformed and taken off after the rest of his team before turning to Rodimus. "We're following 'em, aren't we?"
Rodimus' daredevil grin returned. "Of course we are. Wait an hour before we head to the space bridge, just in case, all right?"
Red Alert rolled her optics. "I'm going to regret this."
"How dare you disgrace me like this, you walking derelict?!"
Wreck-Gar grinned guilelessly down at the head in his arms. "I am Wreck-Gar, and I am NOT a walking derelict! I am an honorary Autobot! Well… sorta. Nobody's told me I still have the job." He scratched the top of his helm, shedding a few flakes of rust and dislodging some flies in the process. "But hey, nobody's told me I'm fired yet either, so I guess I'm still one, huh?"
"What ARE you blathering about, you scrapheap?"
"I dunno, but at least I have someone around who'll listen to me," Wreck-Gar replied. "The critters and the hobos tend to ignore me or run the other way, so it's nice to have some actual company, ya know?"
Starscream ground his dental plates, glaring up at the orange mech as he continued to stroll through the landfill, his unwilling companion cradled in his arms. This was undignified in the extreme! Bad enough that he was reduced to a head again, but he was stuck with this blithering idiot! He wasn't even a proper Cybertronian, just a pile of human-generated garbage somehow given life by the Allspark. And he didn't even have the decency to treat him with the respect an Air Commander deserved!
Is this to be my fate? he bemoaned, seething. To be the plaything of a demented Junk-ion for the rest of my functioning days? At least the LAST time I was reduced to a head I was still in a position to get control of the situation… now I don't even know what the situation IS! And this blockhead will be no help!
"Unhand me THIS instant!" Starscream shrieked. "Or ELSE!"
"But… you don't have hands," Wreck-Gar pointed out, cocking his head to the side.
"Just put me down!"
"Okay!" And Wreck-Gar dropped the head in a rust-and-oil-scummed puddle.
"ARGH! Pickmeuppickmeuppickmeup!"
"Geez, make up your mind!" Wreck-Gar picked Starscream up, wiped him off with a tattered beach towel he plucked out of his backpack, and strolled off again.
Starscream spit out a mouthful of foul-tasting water before speaking up again. "Guh… how did I get stuck with you anyhow?"
"Just lucky, I guess?" Wreck-Gar hefted the head in his hands and set it in a box-shaped niche in a wall of trash that bordered one side of the landfill. "There! Now you get a nice view of home!"
Starscream scowled as his optics swept across the heaps of garbage that littered the landscape as far as he could see, interrupted by the occasional bulldozer or other piece of heavy machinery shuffling the trash from one place to another. So this was to be his home for the foreseeable future - this kingdom of refuse and detritus, ruled by a king who was far more jester than monarch. And bereft of his body - a body that was too badly damaged to operate even if his head had been attached to it - there was little he could do to overthrow THIS king and better his situation.
Just offline me, he thought. I was better off dead in the streets of Detroit, or floating through deep space with Megatron for company. There's no way this situation can get any worse…
"Here it is, brother!"
Starscream squawked as two mechs thrust their faces into his field of vision - one blue and silver with a blue visor, the other orange and ivory with large gold optics and what looked like a pair of goggles on top of his helm. They regarded him with puzzled expressions, tilting their heads from side to side as if studying a particularly interesting cyberroach.
"What are you staring at?" he demanded.
"Is this being the source of the SOS?" the blue one asked.
"I am thinking it is," the orange one replied, raising a hand to poke lightly at Starscream's chin. "Where is the rest of him, I am wondering?"
"Stop poking me!" Starscream barked. "What IS it with you Autobots being so handsy?"
The orange one pulled his hand back, but he continued to stare at Starscream. "Are you being okay? Who is taking your head from your body? We are not medics, but that is not looking healthy to us."
"Ask THAT idiot," Starscream growled, thrusting his chin in the direction of Wreck-Gar. The junk-mech seemed to share an attention span with Blitzwing's insane personality and was currently occupying himself with a musical instrument he called a "squeezebox." Whatever THAT was.
"Well, that wasn't being nice of him!" the blue one exclaimed. "Where is your body? Perhaps we can be putting you back together again!"
Starscream opened his mouth to tell these two mechs to get lost, then slowly shut it again. These mechs might be pesky, but they actually wanted to help him. How adorably naive… and how convenient for him. If they truly wanted to lend him a hand, who was he to deny them the chance to be generous?
And the longer he looked at these two youngsters, the more intrigued he became. They wore Autobot crests, but bore obvious flight alt modes - something normally seen only in Decepticons. Had the Autobots managed to figure out flying alt modes for themselves? Or had they stolen the technology? Come to think of it, they HAD taken scans of his chassis and spark while he'd been their captive, before his escape…
Most curious… most curious indeed. Perhaps that SOS I sent out DID work - just not in the way I anticipated. And perhaps I can work this to my advantage. I just have to be careful...
"Why, I would love your help, younglings," he told them, softening his voice with an oily smile. "If you could just carry me over to my chassis, I'd be most grateful."
"We can be doing that, sir!" the orange one replied, and he scooped up Starscream's head and skipped off. "I am Jetfire, and this is my brother Jetstorm! We will be helping you!"
"Jetfire and Jetstorm… a pleasure." He gritted his dental plates, fighting back the urge to snap at Jetfire for bouncing him around. "I think we're going to get along nicely."
"A new friend!" Jetstorm gushed. "New friends are being the best!"
"New friends!" Wreck-Gar called out, tossing the squeezebox aside and skipping after the Jet-brothers. "This is the greatest day ever! Hey, let me help you with that! I'm good at fixing things! Or at least with duct tape and superglue, same thing, right?"
Starscream fought the urge to roll his optics. Two innocent Autobot fliers and a Junk-ion were hardly glorious beginnings for his own personal army… but it was a step forward. And any step, no matter how small or strange, counted at this point.